“It was a stupid vision,” says Gillespie County Treasurer, Katy Dreyfus. “I said a bullet train in the Texas Hill Country was dumb and the feasibility study proves I’m right. 42-million-a-mile! And that’s before cost overruns! There’s always cost overruns. The printer charged us a seven-dollar stapling fee. Nobody saw that coming. Let’s start there.”

“See that picture of the bullet train on the cover of the study? Nine dollars for the copyright! Am I the only one who cares about controlling costs? Hell, some middle-school art teacher could’ve drawn a train for free if we had some good dirt on ‘em. They shoulda talked to me first.”

“130 wineries in an hour comes out to 45 seconds at each one,” she continues while sipping on a Red Bull. “Yeah, like that’s enough time to enjoy a tasting. And they can’t stay longer because, according to page 38…”

“Gillespie County doesn’t have millions in cash just laying around. I know, I’ve looked. Or is it lying around? Whatever. They need to downsize the project. If they find more money they can add stations down the line. See what I did there? ‘Down the line?’ Catchy, right?”

Knowing Ms. Dreyfus was probably correct all along, and in an effort to get her to stop talking, the County Judge ordered the project to be downsized to just two stations — Fredericksburg and The Fat Ass Brewery. At 300 miles an hour, the 11-mile trip will take two minutes, twelve seconds.

“It’s ‘lying’ around. I just looked it up,” Dreyfus continued, reaching for another Red Bull. “This new plan is also dumb. An average of 38 people make that trip each day. If the feds throw in half the cash, a one-way ticket will still cost $640,000. We don’t have the money to upgrade our Mr. Coffee machine to the new model with the decalcify button, yet we have money to get to Fat Ass Brewery ten minutes quicker?”

Coffee service is actually one of the things being considered in the revised project. It’s estimated that adding onboard coffee service would bring in an additional $34 per trip. ^[1]

“How ‘bout we get rid of the seats?” Dreyfus asks while crushing an empty can against her forehead. “Let everyone bring their own lawn chairs like when they go to the beach. They can tie ‘em down with rope. Maybe we can sell ‘em rope.”

^[1] This figure assumes everybody on the train buys one cup which isn’t guaranteed.

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Billiam Coronel is a multiple Emmy-winning comedy writer who now lives in the Texas Hill Country. He was on The Tonight Show multiple times and wrote on a dozen sitcoms including FAMILY GUY.

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Announcing H-E-B Big ’n Tall, their new Hill Country concept store tailored to an obese clientele.

“Standard nutritional labels are useless for the average fatty-patty,” explains overweight customer Linda Montgomery. “A typical label might list 80 calories but that’s a seven-ounce serving. I eat that on the way to getting snacks. There’s a bowl of Peanut M&M’s in our hallway meant for guests. When I walk to the bathroom I usually grab a handful in each direction. Seven ounces is a rounding error. Finally, there will be a store that will cater to big-boned people.”

The retail experience will feel distinctly different from the moment shoppers arrive. To start, the parking lot isn’t in front of the building—it’s located a block away, guaranteeing customers get some much-needed cardio.

Once inside, the pricing structure flips traditional grocery math on its head. Products aren’t priced by the weight of the item. They are priced according to your weight.

Instead of confusing calorie counts and daily percentage values, item packaging will feature a simple chart labeled: “Can I Eat This?”

To use it, shoppers cross-reference their body weight against the total number of servings they’re willing to consume before catching their reflection in the microwave door. If the intersecting point lands in the upper “red zone”, the answer is no. You cannot buy it. Put the queso back and find an item in the lower, “green zone.”

The personal-accountability model extends to the deli counter…

“Most overweight people are terrible at judging volume,” says Store Manager Julie Sender. “They don’t know if they need a pint of tuna salad or a gallon. At Big ’n Tall, you simply walk up to the counter, tell the clerk what you want, and show ‘em an official ID that lists your weight. The counter-person then determines your portion. If you feel you didn’t get enough potato salad, there is an appeals process but you must be willing to do a quick lap around the building.”

Ms. Sender admits the concept isn’t without logistical hurdles.

“Our two biggest concerns are customers presenting fake IDs with a lower weight, and loitering,” Sender explains. “If someone gets turned away at the deli counter, we don’t want them hanging around the front doors like teenagers outside a liquor store: ‘Hey man, if I give you twenty bucks, will you buy me two pounds of chicken salad? It’s for a party. I swear.’”

Experimental supermarket concepts are not a new thing. Last year Erewhon, the ultra-luxury natural foods chain in Los Angeles, tested an entry fee at their Hollywood location. “Everyone in Hollywood is an actor on some keto air-diet. They don’t buy food,” explains local resident Dirk Brockston. “To them, a supermarket is what a zoo is to us. We go to the zoo to see tigers in a cage; actors go to the supermarket to see bread. You’ll see a couple looking at a loaf of sourdough, ‘Can you believe people put that in their bodies? Let’s go look at the gluten.’”

Billiam Coronel is a multiple Emmy-winning comedy writer who now lives in the Texas Hill Country. He was on The Tonight Show multiple times and wrote on a dozen sitcoms including FAMILY GUY.

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“For years we’ve tried to improve our dining experience,” says company spokesman Dr. Simpson Tramble. “Let’s be honest, it hasn’t worked. Our Yelp reviews read like crime reports—‘Waffle House is like Cracker Barrel if they lowered the standards on who they let in,’ ‘Looks like a drug cartel bought a Chuck E. Cheese,’ and ‘Waffle House is like a buffet at a strip club, the food is the last thing you want to touch.’”

Yet, despite the unfortunate food, the chain’s 2,000+ locations remain crowded. The reason is simple: customers come for the fights.

“We’re less of a house and more of a waffle correctional facility,” Dr. Tramble explains. “A huge percentage of our diners end up needing urgent care so we’ve decided to lean into that. When treating a knife wound, why give away free paper napkins when we can upsell surgical gauze?”

Hostesses will perform basic triage at the door, seating the bloodiest patrons near the restrooms where the floors are already easy to hose down.

Once seated, servers trained in both first aid and crisis management will point out emergency exits and describe the daily specials. Most medical items like tourniquets and wound dressings will be a la carte, but the menu will also include some family-style combos. The “Bandages For Four,” for example, comes with a full roll of sterile gauze, four ice packs, toast, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a side of hash browns—provided everyone at the table is conscious enough to swallow solid food.

The company admits the pivot has created a few staffing hurdles. For starters, it’s hard to locate doctors with food server experience, and when they do, many are not used to seeing so much blood.

A bigger challenge has been trying to entice these med school graduates to join the Waffle House family instead of a traditional medical group. “At a hospital, a new hire can theoretically work their way up to Chief of Surgery,” Tramble explains. “Our ceiling would be Night Manager so, perks-wise, we’re at a disadvantage. Our ace in the hole is that few hospitals offer unlimited waffles. I believe Houston Methodist is the only one.”

The upcoming Hill Country location will also have another first — the restaurant will partner with local police. When you dial 911, it will ring at Waffle House since the cops will probably be there already.

Update: Houston Methodist could not be reached for comment at time of publication. Since then we have learned they offer only unlimited pancakes, not waffles.

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The writer, Billiam Coronel is a multiple Emmy-winning comedy writer who now lives in the Texas Hill Country. He was on The Tonight Show multiple times and wrote on a dozen sitcoms including FAMILY GUY.

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Novo Nordisk, the Danish pharmaceutical company, decided to tackle the problem from a different angle — what if the deer weren’t so hungry? Yes, they’d still chew on the landscape but less.

The company set up a skunkworks to discover the best way to suppress the appetites of deer. And they did! Unfortunately, performing gastric bypass surgery on each deer would be far too expensive for the average homeowner. “It would be tens of thousands per deer and health insurance policies don’t extend to animals roaming your property,” explains Mr. Canson, Novo’s VP of Critter Research. “We basically hit a wall. Happens. That’s the drug development game. Although it’s not really a game, it’s more a business. You understand.”

The company was about to shut down the project when somebody remembered they make GLP-1s. Perhaps they can give them to the deer. “Why not try? It’s not like we had anything else to work on.”

Initial results proved encouraging. The deer ate less, lowered their diabetes risk, and most importantly, the cost was cheaper than surgery. But a new problem arose — the deer stubbornly refused to give themselves shots each week. Again the project hit a wall. Happens. A different wall but still. As they were about to close down the project a second time somebody (not the same person. This one was male) accidentally dropped his corn on the cob into an open jar of GLP-1 pills and Corn-Flavored Wegovy was born.

Although clearly a breakthrough in landscape maintenance, two things stand in the way of guaranteed commercial success: for starters, the cost is still too high — $900 a month to save a lawn? Luckily Congress is considering passing the Medicare Part G Bill (Supplemental Garden Policy), which would allow vermin to be added to Medicare policies. And then there’s the smell — GLP-1 causes burps, which have a rotten-egg smell due to gas buildup in the digestive tract. Multiply that by 15 deer and the neighborhood will smell like the restrooms of a sulfur mine.

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Billiam Coronel is a multiple Emmy-winning comedy writer who now lives in the Texas Hill Country. He was on The Tonight Show multiple times and wrote on a dozen sitcoms including FAMILY GUY.

And they’re not happy.

“I’m in five different ghost tours and I never signed up to entertain nobody,” says the corpse of Robert Pug (1874-1905) who died before learning what a double-negative is. “We’re troubled souls caught between dimensions and now, it seems, also sideshow performers. They need to pay us.”

“They’re not performers,” says tour owner, Lou Mason (1963- ) of Lou’s Boos. “The ghosts do what they do and my customers watch. That’s it. If a bunch of people look at a waterfall, do you owe the waterfall money?”

“The tours know we can’t go someplace else,” Mr. Pug responds. “I was murdered by savage injuns on this here spot ^[1], so this is where I gotta do my haunting. They’re exploiting us.” Several dead Comanche nod in agreement but it is unclear if they understood. The Comanche don’t have a word for exploitation.

“They want a 20% ‘ghost fee’ added to each ticket,” Mr. Mason reveals. “Yeah, good luck with that. All we actually do is walk folks to different places and charge ‘em fifty bucks. We’re already a rip off. Now they want us to raise our tickets to sixty? At a certain point people will just stay home and scare themselves.”

Not being able to reach a compromise, the ghosts have filed a complaint with the National Labor Relations Board. “Being dead doesn’t strip a group of their collective bargaining rights,” said their lawyer, reading from a prepared statement before never being heard from again.

The ghosts have also applied for membership in the actors’ union. If they’re performing in front of audiences, the de facto performers’ union should protect them, right? Not so fast…

“Paranormals don’t qualify for membership,” states union spokesperson Paula Dim (1958- ). “Is ‘paranormal’ an accepted term? I don’t want to offend. Alive-challenged? Anyway, you’re suggesting we track members across an additional time-space continuum. You can imagine the havoc that would bring to our accounting department. The computers still get confused with leap years. Plus most of these ‘performers’ died before Social Security numbers were issued so there’s also that.”

“Looks like we dodged a bullet,” says Mr. Mason, pumping a fist in the air. “We would’ve had to become a union signatory and abide by their casting guidelines. That would’ve meant at least two minorities per show and we’d have to bring in ghosts from Kerrville.”

^[1] Historians note Mr. Pug actually died of dysentery after eating bad chili.

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Billiam Coronel is a multiple Emmy-winning comedy writer who now lives in the Texas Hill Country. He was on The Tonight Show multiple times and wrote on a dozen sitcoms including FAMILY GUY.

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After 92 years in stolen valor purgatory, The Vatican has officially declared Kraft Foods’ Miracle Whip an actual miracle.

Definition of a miracle: A surprising event that is not explicable by scientific laws and therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency.

“In the words of the Holy Father himself, ‘It makes the inedible edible,’” declares Archbishop Paolo Rudelli, Substitute for General Affairs for the Secretariat of State of the Holy See.

“Technically it’s an emulsified salad dressing, not mayo—” interjects Edgar Peña Parra, Apostolic Nuncio to Italy and San Marino, then going quiet when he realizes Rudelli is staring at him. “Sorry.”

“As I was saying,” continues Archbishop Rudelli, “each week The Holy See receives dozens of Request for Miracle Status applications. This is the first condiment to receive this level of endorsement—”

“Jesus saves souls and Miracle Whip saves sandwiches!” says Peña Parra, again interrupting. “That should be their slogan. Good, right? Not that I’m comparing Jesus to Miracle Whip. It’s like when talking about the saints — Saint Peter is the patron saint of popes and St. Rita of Cascia is the patron saint of bad marriages. Both are saints but they’re not equal. I mean, she might be a lovely woman but c’mon. Know what I’m saying? I forgot where I was going with this.”

Before Rudelli can cut him off…

“Oh wait, I remember. I was gonna say it’s too bad emulsified mayo alternatives weren’t around in biblical times. If Jesus made potato salad with Miracle Whip instead of regular mayonnaise when he fed the 5,000, maybe he would’ve fed 6,000. He’d have had more tools in his Divine Toolkit. Hey, here’s an idea, why not dab a bit of Miracle Whip onto the communion wafers during the Holy Eucharist? I hear Chris & Pitt’s BBQ sauce is also on the Short List— What are you doing? Hey!”

Peña Parra is dragged off by a half dozen Swiss Guards.

Having one of your condiments earn the equivalent of product-sainthood ^[1] comes at a price — Kraft Heinz’s corporate headquarters in Chicago has now become a shrine.

“Miracle Whip is doing the Lord’s work,” testifies a company spokesperson. “But now that our emulsified ranch dressing is officially a sacrament, an ever-growing number of pilgrims are making the journey to the place the miracle first occurred. They sneak into the factory at night and swim in the vats of mayonnaise in hopes it’s some kind of Fountain of Youth. The problem’s become so widespread we had to install rinse-off showers next to the vats. Sometimes they even leave behind dry sandwiches as symbolic offerings.”

UPDATE: Rather than fight against the inevitable trespassing, the company has decided to embrace it. They are meeting next week with Pro-Water Design Associates to explore ways to turn the factory into a mayonnaise waterpark.

^[1] (Betting sites Kalshi and Polymarket both had Heinz Ketchup at better odds)

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Billiam Coronel is a multiple Emmy-winning comedy writer who now lives in the Texas Hill Country. He was on The Tonight Show multiple times and wrote on a dozen sitcoms including FAMILY GUY.

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“On weekday evenings we’ve been hiring guitarists (“pickers”) to take requests. They know thousands of country songs but audiences consistently ask for the same ten hits,” says spokesperson Laura Jane Elbow, taking a swig from a Shiner Bock at 9:30 in the morning. “We realized we can save money if we fire the pickers and automate.”

Wait, what? Luckenbach is replacing live performers with a jukebox? “Better!” reveals Ms. Elbow.“Some of Disney’s old Country Bear Jamboree robots.”

A popular Disneyland attraction from 1971 to 2024, The Country Bear Jamboree consisted of audio-animatronic robots that sang country music. Imagine watching HEE HAW if Roy Clark was played by a hairy R2D2 and Junior Samples slept with a Roomba.

From the twenty plus musicians in The Country Bear Jamboree, Luckenbach bought Homer, Gomer, Wendell and Romeo McGrowl. The staff will spend the next few months upgrading them — plugging the robots into Spotify's HOT COUNTRY channel and spraying their pelts with a beer-proof protective sealant. Their onboard electronics will also undergo programming to ignore anyone yelling “Freebird.”

As an unexpected bonus, Disney also threw in the robot from ‘Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln.’ “He was stored in the back of a warehouse since 1973, when his attraction closed,” said Elbow, wiping her mouth with her sleeve and grabbing another Shiner Bock. “He was sad, actually, all dusty and smelling of stale hydraulic fluid. Disney says at one point they considered reusing him in a new ride but market research showed nobody wanted to ride a rollercoaster based on the Civil War. So they gave him to us. He doesn’t sing and his movements are fairly primitive, so he won’t perform onstage. Maybe we’ll put him in the bathroom reciting the Gettysburg Address while handing out toilet paper — ‘Great Movements With Mr. Lincoln.’”

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Billiam Coronel is a multiple Emmy-winning comedy writer who now lives in the Texas Hill Country. He was on The Tonight Show multiple times and wrote on a dozen sitcoms including FAMILY GUY.

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“All porches look alike. That’s a fact,” claims Hank Belchain, a UPS driver based out of the Customer Center in Kerrville, TX. Sixes, eights, and nines all look alike and some addresses are only one letter away from a different address! It’s a miracle any deliveries end up in the right place.

Here’s an example…

101 Main Street and 101 Maine Street.

Can you spot the difference? Look again. Keep in mind that while we’re glancing at address labels we’re also driving a cartoon-shaped truck and trying to remember which traffic laws are important. Is it any wonder we constantly throw packages onto the wrong porch? Is this for a podcast?”

Hoping to assist their drivers, UPS has made the decision to hire former employees of the Psychic Friends Network — a legacy call-in service where people were charged $3.99 per minute for psychic guidance. Now when drivers encounter illegible addresses, they can consult an in-house psychic who will help determine whether it’s suite B or suite 8.

The company also plans to introduce a premium shipping tier in which tracking numbers will be connected to a specific psychic who will follow that package from drop-off to delivery. Customers will get real-time updates on whether their package “feels close.”

Early tests have been encouraging. One issue has emerged, however — a large number of drivers, after being told they’re gonna win the lottery, have quit.

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Billiam Coronel is a multiple Emmy-winning comedy writer who now lives in the Texas Hill Country. He was on The Tonight Show multiple times and wrote on a dozen sitcoms including FAMILY GUY.

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“ENCHANTED is a musical about a cartoon princess thrust into modern-day New York City,” says Disney Legal Team Member 17. “You can obviously see how the average dumb kid, hearing about some rock in Texas, might get confused. The city can change a few signs. We’d have to rewrite over a dozen songs.”

“At first we planned to fight ‘em but they convinced us,” claims Llano City Council Chairman Tommy Chaster as he exited the bank carrying three gym bags. “Over several expensive steak dinners, we simply listened to Disney’s argument — that being the largest pink granite monadnock in the United States doesn’t make you enchanted — and that’s why we changed our minds.”

“Enchanted is defined as being placed under a magic spell,” Mr. Chaster continued while setting up a new Disney Plus subscription on his TV. “The only thing magical about Enchanted Rock is how much you sweat there during the summer. But perspiration isn’t magic. It's heatstroke with better branding. If you’re in a hot car and sweat, are you now sitting in an enchanted car? No. We owe it to proper grammar to be accurate in the adjectives we use.”

The place was mistakenly labeled enchanted because the Native Americans of the area, the Comanche, heard groaning noises at night and interpreted the sounds as spiritual power. Years later, however, people of science figured out the groans are from the granite expanding and contracting.

The Llano Geology Society was also originally against modifying the name of the 700 million-year-old rock formation but the members changed their minds when Disney flew their families to Florida for an all-expenses-paid trip to the Dolphin Resort near Epcot Center to talk it over one more time. “It’s true that in 1971 the National Park Service awarded the area the designation ‘National Natural Landmark,’” says Society member Nagi Leashman, drinking prosecco from a Yeti mug with his name etched under the Disney logo and holding a Limited Edition Box Set of Frozen. “But so what? We’ve all gotten awards and they don’t call me ‘Excellent Bowler Leashman.’”

So the next step would be dropping “enchanted” from the name and licensing “The Rock” from Dwayne Johnson, right? Not so fast. There’s a legal complication that two weeks in the Goofy Suite on a Disney Cruise can’t resolve — “The Rock” trademark is actually owned by Alcatraz Island LLC. They permit Mr. Johnson to use the moniker only in the area of entertainment. Using “The Rock” in any other field would be seen as competition to Alcatraz. Legal experts say this is why the Dwayne Johnson Incarceration Centers never got off the ground.

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Billiam Coronel is a multiple Emmy-winning comedy writer who now lives in the Texas Hill Country. He was on The Tonight Show multiple times and wrote on a dozen sitcoms including FAMILY GUY.

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“Normally we hop on the truck and rush to the fire,” explains Fire Marshal Bo Meritson, “but I didn’t want to interrupt the ‘wish’. I’m not a doctor but the kid looked pretty sick and I was afraid he might not be around long enough for us to reschedule. We thought about taking the bus to the fire but decided to just wait until 2pm.”

“The homeowner was probably playing with lighter fluid,” Meritson guesses. “Chances are he wandered off to get another beer and everything caught fire. I don’t know that this is what happened or not but odds are good he didn’t properly clear debris around his firepit. I’m assuming it’s a guy ‘cause lighter fluid is mostly a man thing. Anyway, I had to make a tough choice — do I shorten the dying wish of an innocent boy just to save some rusted BBQ grill on a rotting wooden porch that I’ll bet wasn’t built to code in the first place?”

“The poor kid was dealt a bad hand,” Meritson continues. “Spent most of his life in hospitals. Probably. You should’ve seen him that day. My God, he was happy as a clam, honking the horn. Sorry. I don’t mean to be tearing up… I’m supposed to cut short this boy’s dream ‘cause a slow-witted alcoholic drifter set fire to the woodpile near his trailer? I admit I don’t actually know if he drank or lived in a trailer but I’ll wager my pension he was slow-witted. I have a sense for these things.”

“Decks can be rebuilt, dying boys can’t. That’s a saying I live by. If I wasn’t scared of needles I’d get that as a tattoo. What’s a few burned acres compared to a sick kid having fun playing with hoses? In fact, I suspect this homeowner might be a tax-cheating arsonist who purposefully set fire to his own backyard. Maybe. There’s no proof he didn’t. What we DO have proof of, is that the boy was sick. Everyone agreed he didn’t look healthy so the only proof here helps the boy.”

“Between a probable wife-abusing pyromaniac and a terminally ill, grade-A student about to board the elevator to Heaven, I’ll side with the young lad every time.”

Update: The fire department has officially filed a request with the Make-A-Wish Foundation to get a second fire truck.

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Billiam Coronel is a multiple Emmy-winning comedy writer who now lives in the Texas Hill Country. He was on The Tonight Show multiple times and wrote on a dozen sitcoms including FAMILY GUY.

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Ticket prices will start at $42,000 plus a $6.95 processing fee. “There will be a limited number of VIP packages,” according to Hondo’s Manager Fred Savage. “Our Gold Package will be $120,000, which will include free drinks and taking turns being strapped to the back of Lars Ulrich.”

“We understand the ticket prices are high,” Mr. Savage continued, “but the insurance for this event is astronomical. This building was constructed more than a hundred years before thrash metal existed. We’re not sure the stone walls will hold up from the vibrations. By morning the venue might be nothing more than a smoldering crater and we’ll have to rebuild from the ashes. And no, I’m not that Fred Savage.”

Luckenbach has announced they will counter-program that night with the Shen Yun Chinese Dance and Music Company. Each Shen Yun touring ensemble consists of 60 performers plus a full orchestra. The Luckenbach stage can only accommodate 8 performers at a time, so audience members will be asked to imagine the other 52. More details when they become available.

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Billiam Coronel is a multiple Emmy-winning comedy writer who now lives in the Texas Hill Country. He was on The Tonight Show multiple times and wrote on a dozen sitcoms including FAMILY GUY.

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Sexist, you say? Men are looking to sip wine and sing karaoke also, you say? Well, you can stop saying it — Announcing Willy’s Wine Wagon Tours: A competitor to Brooke’s that is only for men.

A typical Wine Wagon tour begins with a stop at a convenience store so participants can spend forty minutes debating which beer to buy. The car then follows one of Brooke’s vehicles at a discreet distance of about thirty yards to whatever winery they’re headed to. Pulling in a few minutes behind, the men remain in the car, crack open beers and talk sports. When the women emerge from their wine tasting an hour later, the men roll down the windows and shout from across the parking lot in what Willy describes as “attempts to connect.” The car then follows the ladies to the next vineyard, where the process repeats.

Upgrade options include binoculars, ice and a company chaperone whose sole responsibility is to repeatedly say, “Bro, you should totally go talk to them.”

Both companies charge a $300 cleaning fee if someone gets sick. Advises Willy, “Vomit at the wineries, not in the vehicles. Have some class.”

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Billiam Coronel is a multiple Emmy-winning comedy writer who now lives in Texas Hill Country. He was on The Tonight Show multiple times and wrote on a dozen sitcoms including FAMILY GUY.

Luckily, the misfortune of Stonewall, Texas, is throwing Johnson City a lifeline. A surprising number of people in the LGBTQ community type ‘Stonewall’ into their navigation system when they *should* type, ‘Stonewall Inn’. They assume they’re driving to the memorial celebrating gay rights at the site of the infamous 1969 Stonewall Riots in New York City but instead end up in the Texas parking lot of Los Cazadores Hunting Supply looking at deer feeders.

“We saw this as an opportunity,” continues Johnson City’s mayor. “Why not invite these people to drive 10 minutes further and share their frustration with other annoyed people here in Johnson City? Everyone will be welcome, of course. You don’t have to be German to visit the German town of Fredericksburg and you won’t have to be gay to visit the new Johnson City. And the best thing about this rebranding? We won’t have to change any signs.”

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Billiam Coronel is a multiple Emmy-winning comedy writer who now lives in the Texas Hill Country. He was on The Tonight Show multiple times and wrote on a dozen sitcoms including FAMILY GUY.

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